


Pixie Dust (And The Problems It Causes)

by blainedarling



Series: Seblaine Week 2014 [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Tumblr: seblaineweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine expects his summer job to involve copious amounts of hair gel and screaming children, not an irritatingly handsome co-worker who has a tendency to pelt him with fairy dust. (Day Six: Disney)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pixie Dust (And The Problems It Causes)

Blaine considered himself one of the lucky ones when it came to his line of work for the summer. His costume was laborious to get on, the many layers piling up in a way that was entirely unpleasant in the southern heat, but at the very least,  _he_  didn’t have to wear a wig. And it wasn’t as though he was unused to the piles of gel that went into slicking back his natural curly locks into a smooth, Disney-approved hairstyle. 

The girls seemed to have it worse with the wigs; he watched with increasing amounts of sympathy where his Ariels would tug them off as soon as they were backstage with a groan at the sweat sticking to their scalps. He’d managed to purchase a small spray bottle at a local store one weekend and took to having it ready for those such moments, so he could spritz them with cool water until they stopped grumbling. 

It was what he’d seen his mom do to Cooper as a kid when the heat had made him agitated and it seemed to be as effective here.

The heat was probably the worst thing about his job. On the odd day, Blaine would be allowed to don Eric’s sailor outfit instead, the shirt loose and billowing, allowing the air to kiss his skin instead of getting trapped inside layers of material. But that was rare; they preferred the full Prince get-up, looks of pity passed between the various Princes as they changed before heading out into the sun. 

Prince Philip had tried attaching an ice pack to his ribs beneath his costume one day, but it hadn’t ended so well when it started melting through the packet and the children soon started shrieking about how he had been stabbed and was bleeding. That maroon coloured costume had its problematic elements, that was for sure. 

Then, there was Peter Pan. He certainly looked the part, a wide and cheeky grin seemingly ever-present upon his lips, agile enough to hop up onto walls around the park, more often than not with a trail of children tripping over their own feet to keep up with him. His eyes were green enough to match the green of his costume, vibrant and sparkling. And every single time he saw Blaine, he would merrily scoop a handful of pixie dust (read: glorified glitter) from his pocket and blow it in his direction. 

Blaine had gotten a little tired of scooping the offending material out of the corners of his eyes and the top of his costume. Of course he carried it gracefully with the constant audience that came with a job like that, huffing teasingly about what a troublemaker Peter was and gently sprinkling some of the glitter off on the children, who twirled and giggled with glee. 

By the time he looked up again, Peter would typically be gone. Blaine would sometimes hear his voice in the distance, calling out to his hoards as he skipped off. To annoy someone else, no doubt. 

*

There was a thunderstorm looming that Thursday, Blaine could feel it in the air. His costume clung to his skin even worse than usual, the heat stifling, making sweat pool at the back of his neck. The following day would be his first off in over a week and the tiredness was starting to take its toll. He felt sluggish, the smile on his face forced where it usually came naturally, his limbs stiff and uncomfortable.

He pushed through it, he didn’t have a choice, relishing in the moments that he could kneel down to sign a little girl’s autograph book or pose for a photo. Rising up again, brushing the dirt from his knees, was always the harder part. 

It was those kind of days that made him grateful for having Rachel’s Ariel by his side: the girl had a level of professionalism that some of the others lacked in part, the same work ethic and drive for high quality in any performance that Blaine strove for himself. She could sense Blaine’s exhaustion, her fingers gently pressing into his arm in a gesture of support whenever he took her by the arm to lead her somewhere. 

Blaine heard Peter before he saw him, his whoops and cries accompanied with the sound of feet pitter-pattering over the ground in their direction. He wasn’t sure he could take the other boy’s antics that day, but he set the smile on his face into place all the same as he turned his head in the direction that the noises were coming from.

“Who’s that?” he asked the children around him, widening his eyes and pointing behind them. “Who’s that coming towards us, everyone?”  
Many of the children started cooing and bouncing up and down excitedly as Peter Pan came skipping towards them, his own little gang behind him. One little boy, however, took one look at him and burst into tears. 

_Me too, sweetheart,_ Blaine thought to himself, before kneeling down a little to pat his shoulder gently. “Hey, it’s okay, he’s just playing,” he assured him gently, his heart warming as his big blue eyes, streaked with tears, turned on him. “He’s harmless, really, I promise,” he added, with a small teasing grin.  
The boy blushed, snuffling before he pushed up onto his tiptoes to wrap his arms around his neck. “You’re my favourite, Prince Eric,” he whispered, squeezing a little before pulling back with a smile. 

Blaine laughed softly as he stood up, but his lightened mood only lasted a moment or two. Peter had perched himself on the wall next to him, his long fingers toying with some of the sparkly dust that he had scooped into his palm. Blaine gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst, his eyes flashing in his direction fiercely, as subtle a warning as he could convey as possible. 

_Don’t you dare. Not today._

“Hey kids, wanna see Prince Eric sparkle?” Peter called out over the group, receiving a round of enthusiastic cheers in response.   
Blaine laughed along, slipping an arm tightly around Rachel’s waist. “Oh, don’t I already sparkle, Peter? I often look in the mirror and think I just  _glow_  from my love for Ariel.”

The kids, and several of the parents, gushed appreciatively, the sound of cameras clicking around their little scene. Blaine had hoped maybe for once Peter would just drop it, would back down. He should have known better. Moments later he was blinking glitter from out of his eyes and resisting the urge to smack Peter Pan across the face.

Fortunately, Rachel was quick on her feet, making up some excuse to the children about how they had a ball to get ready for and she had to make sure Eric was presentable, before ushering him off towards one of the backstage areas. Blaine let her guide him, given that all he could see when he opened his eyes was flecks of gold and silver. 

As soon as the door was firmly shut and Blaine knew no poor child outside was going to be able to hear him, he exploded, rubbing at his eyes furiously. “Mother fucking asshole piece of  _shit_ ,” he yelled, stomping over to the sinks to wash the stuff free. “What is he? Eight? I am so  _sick_  of that kid, Rach!”

Rachel shushed him gently, following after him to slip the jacket free off his shoulders, before rubbing his back in smooth circles. She didn’t say anything until Blaine had calmed down a little, his shoulders slumping and his breath coming out more evenly.  
“I’m sorry,” Blaine murmured, tipping his head forward to rest against the cool glass of the mirror. “I’m sorry, you didn’t need to be on the receiving end of that.”

She hummed softly, pulling back as he moved to sit down on one of the benches. “Blaine, can I ask you something?” He nodded sullenly, his head drooping a little, as she moved to sit beside him. “If a kid, in elementary school, say, likes someone -  _like_  likes - what do they do?”  
Blaine raised his head, confusion knitted into his eyebrows. He shrugged. “Teases them, makes fun of them, something like that,” he replied, still unsure of what she was getting at.

Rachel laughed softly, giving his forearm a squeeze. “Sebastian  _does_  play the boy who never grows up,” she commented, giving his cheek a kiss before she stood, smoothing out her dress. “Come out and join me when you’re ready. I’ll cover for you.”

Blaine watched her go, sighing softly as the door clicked closed. “Sebastian,” he murmured, turning the name over on his tongue, acutely aware that he’d never heard his real name before. 

*

It had grown dark by the time Blaine got to leave the park that night, his satchel thrown over his shoulder as he trudged his way towards the exit. The ground was damp from where the storm had finally broken that evening; thankfully, once he’d been out of the rain himself, thus saving his hair from a minor catastrophe.

He heard someone calling his name behind him, his head whipping around as he peered into the dim light. He’d gotten so used to responding to Prince Eric, these days, that sometimes he had to remind himself that he was still Blaine, too.

A tall man drew up in front of him, a light blue button down shirt draped over his torso, black jean shorts tapered at the knee highlighting the length and slim tone of his legs. Blaine frowned, unsure who the man was at all until he came into the light from the street lamp, his green eyes gazing down at him.

“Sebastian,” Blaine said, folding his arms over his chest as the corner of his mouth turned down.   
The other man grinned, a cat-like smirk that Blaine knew far too well. “I wasn’t aware you knew my name.”  
“I could say that same thing for you.” Blaine paused, tapping his toe off the ground. “Can I help you with something?”  _Asshole._

Sebastian cleared his throat, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I just wanted to apologize. For today. Well, for every one of the times I’ve blown that fucking glitter shit into your eyes. Trust me, I understand how annoying it is, I’m never free of it.” He held up his hands as evidence, and Blaine couldn’t help but snort at the coating of shimmery glitter across his palms. “But especially for today. I could see that you weren’t in the mood for messing around and I did it anyway.”

Blaine nodded a little, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Thank you,” he said softly, allowing himself to give Sebastian a small smile. “I appreciate it.” He cocked his head a little. “Does this mean you’re going to stop doing it?”

Sebastian hummed, giving a small shrug. “Probably not, no,” he replied honestly. “Apparently Peter Pan throwing pixie dust at Prince Eric is becoming quite a hot spot for this summer.”   
Blaine rolled his eyes, murmuring a goodbye before turning to leave. He paused a few feet away, looking back to where Sebastian was still standing beneath the lamp, watching him go. “You suit him, you know. Peter,” he called back, trying to ignore the pleasant flip in his stomach that Sebastian’s smile gave him. 

“As do you, Blaine. Although I think you would have made a fine Prince Charming, too.” Sebastian gave him a wave before heading off onto another of the crossroads that led from that point, his footsteps echoing softly as he went. 

*

Blaine spent his day off in bed, catching up on some much needed sleep and marathoning  _Game of Thrones_  with a hefty pile of snacks. His roommate threw a beach ball at his head when he came back in the evening to find Blaine had not moved all day, but then courteously followed the action up with going out to buy him a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. 

By Saturday, Blaine was feeling far more refreshed and perky than he had been just two days before, a small thrill running up his spine as he donned the costume, much like the sensation he’d had the very first time he’d put it on. Sebastian was in the back room when he made it through there, adjusting his cap in the mirror.

“Hey you,” Blaine called out, finishing up the last of the buttons on his jacket.  
Sebastian turned and offered him a salute along with a cheeky wave. “Your Highness.”  
Blaine chuckled, giving a mock bow before heading towards the door into the park. He heard Sebastian following after him, their footsteps almost synchronized as they stepped outside.

The door led out just around a small corner to Maurice’s cottage, tucked a little out of sight from the public. The heat hit them immediately though and they both let out a small sigh as they adjusted under the heavy materials of their costumes. 

“Are you feeling better?” Sebastian asked, the two of them lingering before they would go out properly and take on their roles.  
Blaine nodded, rocking on his heels. “Much, thank you. It’s a wonder what eight straight hours of sleep can do to a guy.”

Sebastian grinned, before scrunching his nose up a little. “I’m not sure I can remember what that feels like anymore,” he mused, the sun rounding the corner and casting rays over Sebastian’s freckles. 

Blaine chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, his eyes following the curves and shadows of Sebastian’s features. He was handsome, truly, and now that Blaine had finally had a chance to talk to him, he found he wasn’t really as bad as he’d seemed at first. His conversation with Rachel came back to mind, and before he could second guess himself, he leaned up onto his toes and planted his lips onto Sebastian’s.

Sebastian let out a muffled noise of surprise before his hand came up to cup Blaine’s cheek, lips fitting to the shorter man’s sweetly for just a moment before they broke apart. Blaine felt colour rise to his cheeks but the smile on Sebastian’s face told him he hadn’t made a mistake. 

He opened his mouth to say something, suggest meeting after work to get something to eat, or even just to do that again - a  _lot_  more of that - when he heard a small splat of something hitting the ground.

They whipped their heads around to see a little girl, maybe no more than four or five, watching them with her jaw slack, the ball of her ice cream having been the thing that had toppled to the ground, the cone still clasped in her hand. She blinked a few times before recovering herself, giggling and hopping from foot to foot. “Prince Eric! Kiss him again!” 

So, Prince Eric did.

 


End file.
